


Cincinnati - My Personal Hell!

by dancedance_resolution



Series: LegendsVerse [9]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: //less cincinnati jokes than the title implies//, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Time Travel, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Other, coffee shop AU, nb!charlie, parker why did you let me write this.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24258670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancedance_resolution/pseuds/dancedance_resolution
Summary: Charlie is a struggling punk artist who works at a trashy Cincinnati coffee shop.Zari just wants some decent tea.---the zarlie coffee shop au i hate myself for writing
Relationships: Charlie/Zari Tomaz | Zari Tarazi
Series: LegendsVerse [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857001
Comments: 29
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for this.

“What types of tea do you have? All I see on the menu is Lipton Green.”

  
“And that’s all we got.”

“There’s a smudged section over there,” Zari offered as she pointed to the bottom left corner of the chalkboard that displayed the items and prices. “That’s where you list the other types of tea you sell. What are they?”

“That smudged section is where we used to write the names of the booze we sold, but Jim got behind on the taxes so the liquor license got revoked, and you’d think they wouldn’t enforce it, but god be damned, the week before last the health inspector came strutting in here like he owned the place to tell—”  
  


“With all do respect, uh—” Zari’s eyes swept over Charlie’s body, desperately searching for a nonexistent name tag.

“Charlie.”

“—Charlie,” Zari continued, “this is a coffee shop. You sell more types of tea than just Lipton Green.”

“And with all due respect,” Charlie said before gesturing towards Zari expectantly.

“Zari.”

“—Zari, this is Cincinnati. Gotta head to a ritzier city than this to find yourself some descent tea.”

“No, I don’t. Tea isn’t some luxurious commodity, it’s _tea._ You sound British; you’d know.”

“I haven’t had a sip of tea since age fifteen, so I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zari scoffed, smiling with irritated disbelief. “So you won’t give me any tea.”

“I’ll give you Lipton Green for two bucks and change.”

“I am so going to light this place up on CatChat,” Zari muttered as she ripped her phone from her pocketbook. “Forcing me to drink the godawful Teavana from Starbucks? I can’t even.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Charlie countered. “Let me make you a drink of my choice. You’ll like it better than you would’ve liked that tea or it’s free.”

“And I’ll destroy you on CatChat.”

“So that’s a deal?”

Zari simply glared at Charlie before begrudgingly sitting down at a table. “Decaf, please.”

\---

“Your drink,” Charlie said with mock grandeur as they set a small mug in front of Zari. “Strong, dark, decaf, cardamom. Froth topped with pistachio shavings.”

“So you have this on the menu but only dollar-store tea.” Zari’s irritated gaze finally stopped its relentless piercing of Charlie’s eyes as she took a hesitant sip. “What’s it called?”

“Not sure; just made it up.” Charlie paused, giving Zari a rather eager look. “So, what d’you think?”

Zari remained silent, so Charlie quickly grabbed the stale cold-brew they’d made themself earlier and accompanied Charlie at the beat-up little table.

“Don’t you have a café to run?”

“Well, it’s just a shop, and I sure as hell don’t run it. Anyways, the only customers that’ll swing by here are day drinkers who don’t give a damn about service.”

“I thought your liquor license was revoked.”

  
“As long as David Fucking Reed isn’t in this shop, no one can tell the difference,” Charlie quipped.

“What about when he sends an undercover inspector?”

“Again, babe, it’s Cincinnati.”

“Yes, and Cincinnati is a responsible municipality with adequate resources to—”

Charlie suddenly stood up, knocking back their chair and nearly tipping their drink over. “If David sent you here, I swear to god I’ll—”

“Oh, so our fear of this David guy is real,” Zari whispered to herself as she looked down with wide and—admittedly—judgmental eyes. She let Charlie continue ranting threateningly as they paced around the shop, but after a few minutes, she felt the need to put them out of their misery. “Charlie, I don’t work for David,” she interrupted.

“Where are you from?”

“Manhattan.”

“Why are you here?”

  
  
“I have a guest role in a film being shot here. Cincinatti will be my personal hell for the next three months,” she said with fake cheerfulness. 

“Ha! No films are shot in _Cincinnati_!” Charlie began murmuring to themselves, “Oh, David, your hire is pathetic,” with a concerningly pleased look on their face.

“‘No films’? What about _Ides of March, Dark Waters, Rain Man, Point Blank_ —”

“You’re making up those names!”

“And you’re clueless,” Zari responded flatly. She took a final, indignant sip of her drink, draining the mug of the last bit of the coffee.

As Zari got up to leave the shop, she asked, “How much would you charge for the drink if I liked it?”

  
  
“Knowing you’re a pawn of David? Ten bucks.”

So she dropped a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar and left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it ooc for charlie to say babe? probably. will they continue to say it? yes absolutely.

“Hello, David. I know you’re listening in on a wire this time, but—guess what!—you’re getting nothing out of me today!” Charlie made their way out from behind the counter to get a better view of Zari. They scanned over her outfit—a patterned t-shirt dress accentuated by a simplistic gold necklace and gold-sparkled flats—looking for any sign of a wire.

“I would like a cup of tea, please,” Zari said calmly.

“I’m not daft. I know you’re not going to accept my offer of Lipton Green. Then you’ll ask me to craft you a special creation again, and David will listen in as I detail the boozy concoction I’ve made you. Well, not today!”

“You really should offer some more teas. Expand your menu! Make a trip to the grocery store and buy a small box of something nice, even if it’s just for me. You’ll get your money’s worth; I’ll keep coming back for it.”

“Sure. All fine and dandy, David’s puppet.”

“For the meantime, just make me something, please,” Zari said, exasperation finally rearing its head. The whole David ordeal was not only annoying; at this point, it was honestly creepy.

Yet, she knew she’d be back tomorrow. She didn’t know what it was—maybe the stack of worn and stained books in the corner that she doubted anyone had touched in at least three years, maybe the chaos of the wall-mounted beer-bottle-opener clearly visible from even the street, or maybe the mismatched souvenir mugs in which Charlie served her coffee—but she was just _drawn here_. The place enraptured her; it was a magnet, and maybe it could be her home in this hellhole of a city.

“Decaf, no alcohol,” she called out as Charlie made their way back behind the counter. She sat down at the same table as before and began wondering to herself how soon was too soon to begin calling this _her_ table.

\---

“Might as well put our beer glasses to use, since your boss wants to see them sit idle,” Charlie said as they set Zari’s coffee in front of her, their tone admirably less intense even at the mention of David. “Today you’ve got cold brew decaf with whole raspberries and milk chocolate shavings.”

Zari took a delicate sip. “Surprisingly decadent,” she admitted. 

“I knew you would like it,” Charlie said with satisfaction. They placed a cold brew for themself across from Zari. They then turned the light chair so they could sit on it backwards, resting their arms and chin on the top wooden rail.

Zari couldn’t help but mirror Charlie’s carefree smile.

“So, I have a question for you, Ms.—it’s Ms., right?—Zari. If, like you said, you could go to the store yourself and obtain a tea far more satisfactory than Lipton Green apparently is, why did you return today?”

“Your smirk concerns me, Charlie. If this is a trap for ‘David’—”

“Answer the question, babe.”

Zari paused for a moment, considering her words. “Well, I guess it’s like… Everyone hates the DMV, right? It’s literal torture. But next thing you know, you’re overhearing the a phone conversation next to you and find out this woman’s boyfriend cheated on her with her sister, and the drama of it all captivates you enough to get you though the experience.”

“Unsettling analogy, but go on.”

“So, think of Cincinnati as my DMV. And this coffee shop? It’s that phone conversation—it helps me get through the hell of being in Cincinnati.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Sure,” Zari mused.

“Good enough!” Charlie said with a voice of joyful defeat as they downed the last of their cold brew. “So, what film are you supposedly working on that’s keeping you in this hellish DMV-of-a-city?”

“Well, there’s this insanely, no, _condemnably_ high-budget film about Coachella that one of my ‘ _friends_ ’ is filming, and he wants my followers to watch it. And apparently I 'owed him one' for that stupid hair-stylist rec, so next thing you know, I have a background role that for some reason requires my presence for three godforsaken months.”

“Followers?”

“I’m an influencer.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, almost as if they were uneasy.

“I know, the word prompts a bad gut reaction. And like, maybe I kind of deserve it. But I do what I have to do, ya know?”

“Yeah, I get that, I guess.”

“So, what about you? What landed you in this dumpster fire town?”

“I’m in a band—hey! Give me a chance before you groan! I’m the one having a conversation with an influencer, after all.”

After a relenting sigh from Zari, Charlie continued. “I had to leave England to get away from some things. So I arrived in Bushwick and found my people. We play punk rock—the kind of stuff where the beat grounds you, but the sentiment frees you. And we’re _damn good_. But New York’s expensive, and a lot of doors just weren’t opening, ya know? Now, our bassist, Jim—his uncle ODs, and this coffee shop is about to be foreclosed on. So we sold everything, bought a van to head down here, got a liquor license for this place, and now we all help run the joint.”

“How long have you been at it?”

“Nearly three years now.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it. Me and half my band live right upstairs from the bar—er, coffee shop—that we call home. What could be better than that?”

Zari wasn’t sure what the churning in her chest meant. Homesickness, she surmised, or maybe warped admiration.

Whatever it was, it was uncomfortable. It made her feel restless, but the desire was not one to achieve, unlike all of her recent longings and ambitions. Maybe it was a desire to just _be_?

With a small nod of her head, Zari deposited a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar and made her way out the door.

Charlie wore a content yet mystified countenance for the rest of that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why am i writing so much dialogue when i consider descriptions my strong suit? ~nobody knows~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short but it's something.

“So, David’s _still_ not content. Damn, three days in a row—he’s starting to look thirsty now, isn’t he? Either that or I’ve made a repeat customer out of you, eh?”

(Charlie, too distracted by their fantasy that David was just as obsessed with them as they were with him, did not notice as the slightest blush swept over Zari’s face.)

“Please,” Zari scorned. “I’m here because I’m hoping you’ve improved your tea offerings by now.”

“Well I’m afraid you’re about to be disappointed, babe.”

Everything about Zari’s expression indicated to Charlie that her exhale was one of contempt, but there was something in her eyes…

“Can I create you something again?”

“Decaf, no alcohol,” Zari parroted. The phrase was almost becoming a hymn.

(Neither would admit to the secret—but poorly hidden—looks of delight on each of their faces.)

\---

“Decaf flat white. The coffee on the bottom is some of the strongest shit you’ve ever tasted—the nectar of the gods, I believe—so I whisked the hot milk on top with caramel to give it a sweet flavor.”

Zari indulged in the comforting feeling of the hot drink on her tongue. “I like it.” She paused. “Wait, why do I give you the vibes of someone who needs something sweet in the coffee?”

“Well,” Charlie said, looking at the ceiling as they considered what words other than “vanilla” were appropriate for this situation. “Just a barista’s intuition, I guess.”

Zari hummed tartly in response. “Well, what are you drinking?”

“Whiskey and coffee and some other spices we’ve got lying around. Because guess what, David? Since I’m an employee myself, this doesn’t count as ‘serving alcohol,’ so it’s legal!”

“How _jolly_ for you,” Zari muttered condescendingly.

“‘ _Jolly’_? Mocking the Brit who serves you these masterpieces? What ever happened to ‘don’t bite the hand that feeds you’?”

“I didn’t know _this_ was considered biting,” Zari said, her expression still one of mild superiority.

Charlie let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I know what—”

“I’m stopping you there,” Zari interrupted. “You’re too cute for my image of you to be forever ruined by whatever you were just about to say.”

A tell-tale smirk grew on Charlie’s face. “So you’re not into—”

“Stopping you again!” Zari said with a sarcastically surprised look.

So Charlie just gave Zari eyes—damn flirtatious eyes—as they took a long sip of their drink.

“So you’ve _completely_ given up on subtle,” Zari responded.

“Well, you’re the one who called me cute. And that tone in your voice just now…” Charlie took another drawn out gulp of their beverage, their eyes still affixed on Zari’s.

Zari shook her head with the giggly fondness of a crushing child. She took a quick sip of her coffee and left the empty mug on the table as she stood up. A ten-dollar bill fell into the tip jar, and soon, Zari was on her way.

_So that just happened._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Black lives matter. Educate yourself, educate others if possible, and listen to and amplify black voices. If you don't have any money to donate, consider watching this video, as all of the ad-sense money will be donated to charities to help the movement: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCgLa25fDHM.
> 
> ///
> 
> short filler chapter. a good update is coming soon, i promise :)

It took less than a week for Charlie and Zari’s dance to become a routine. Charlie already had a drink prepared for Zari—decaf, no alcohol—by the time she walked into the door, and Zari automatically sat expectantly at her table upon entering the shop.

Well, maybe it was better titled _their_ table, because every day, like clockwork, Charlie carried over the newest creations and joined Zari at the table. The two twenty-somethings shared drinks, (flirtatious banter), stories, (eye contact held just a moment too long), and laughter as they passed the first hour or two of the morning together.

And Charlie fucking _loved_ it. Each morning, like reflex, a smile appeared on their face in the few minutes before they knew Zari would come marching through that door.

So naturally, when Zari was three minutes later than usual on Tuesday, Charlie’s immediate reaction was to panic. (Wait, did this mean that Charlie had an attachment to Zari? Oh god, so much for harmless flirting.)

And it was then that they realized they didn’t have Zari’s number. Or even her last name.

And those facts echoed in their soul with a resounding _Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this au feels a lot more meaningful (?that's the wrong word but) knowing that charlie will no longer be gracing my tv screen with their prescence every tuesday. i love maisie though, and i am literally so so happy for her and so proud of her. when she's crowned queen of the universe, i'll be in the crowd, still singing her praises.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter brought to you by: maisie's hair in 5x10
> 
> Black lives matter. Educate yourself, educate others if possible, and listen to and amplify black voices. If you don't have any money to donate, consider watching this video, as all of the ad-sense money will be donated to charities to help the movement: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCgLa25fDHM.

“I’ve figured it out,” Zari said as she walked into the shop. “Your braids.”

“Yeah? What about ‘em?” Charlie asked fondly.

“They’re the color of magic.”

Charlie smiled to themself, glancing at the ground for a few moments before meeting Zari’s eyes. “You ever thought about going blue like me?”

Zari snorted. “No. I can’t right now, not while I’m in this film.”

Charlie frowned as they set down the drinks and took a seat across from Zari. “A job that censors your style, censors your authenticity? Is it worth it?”

Zari paused for a moment, hazily staring over Charlie’s shoulder. “How are you so free?” she said suddenly, breaking herself out of her daze.

“What do you mean?” Charlie asked sincerely, extending their hand forward on the table. (Call it an invitation, sure. But they were just trying to be supportive.)

“You’re bold, and you _own it_. You _demand_ freedom and then you thrive with it. How?”

“It’s ‘cause I’m a punk,” Charlie said, laughing a little. “Here, taste your drink before it gets cold.”

Admittedly confused by the sudden subject change but not one to challenge her new friend, Zari touched the rim of the warm mug to her lips. “Is this…” She let it seep into her taste buds. “Oh god, Charlie, if you’ve given me a Lipton Green I _will_ leave this café right now—”

Charlie bent their elbows to let their face rest in their hands innocently. Their smirk grew as they leaned forward, closer to Zari. “Guess what I did, babe. I went to the fucking Whole Foods up on the north end of the city and lined Jeff Bezos’s pockets with my purchase of this fair-trade organic shit.” Charlie dramatically flung themself back, gesturing up to the sky in self-pride.

Zari couldn’t stop her laughter. She indulged in another sip of the tea—steeped for the exact perfect amount of time—her grin never leaving her face in the process. “Thank you, Charlie,” she relented. Say what you want about them, but damn was their expression endearing right now.

“And you know what?”

“What?” Zari responded with an affectionate tone.

“What I just pulled on you? That’s some punk shit.”

“It’s punk to buy your friend tea? What about rebellion and arson?”

“Oh, when rebellion and arson are necessary, you know who to call, sure. But hell yeah is it punk to buy you your wack-ass tea! See, my ‘box’—that societal role that tries to restrain me and dictate who I am—that expectation would say that I wouldn’t go out and buy some sweet friend like you your bougie tea. But I’m a punk! I won’t let that box keep me captive! I’ll be unapologetically loud, I’ll let myself take up space, I’ll let my creativity run wild, I’ll be the counterculture, and I’ll buy the gorgeous woman in front of me some overpriced leaves!”

Charlie’s all-consuming smile was contagious, and Zari couldn’t help but lean in a little closer to them. (She didn’t even try to hide her slight blush at the word “gorgeous.”) “So, Charlie, in your expert opinion, how do I grow into more of a punk?”

“Well, you could start by letting me dye your hair. Just a strand or two in the back, where your boss will never see it. My roommate’s got some bleach and Poseidon Artic Fox leftover from a cosplay. It’ll match the blue strands of my weave perfectly. C’mon, it’ll be like your christening into the world of punk.”

Zari tried to appear like she was at least putting _some_ consideration into the decision, but she knew she wanted to say yes the second Charlie made the proposition. “I’m Muslim, so no christening necessary, but okay!”

The excitement was palpable.

“And hey Zari?” Charlie whispered cheekily.

Zari hummed in response, enjoying another sip of the amber tea.

“When you asked me if the stuff you’re drinking is Lipton Green, you basically admitted that even you can’t taste a difference between the ‘good stuff’ and the old faithful Lipton.”

“Hey!”

Charlie’s laugh was as loud and free as they were. Their whole body shook with the amusement as they scooted closer to Zari.

(Zari’s blush was undeniable. And the stammering as she failed to think up a flirty response…)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two or three more chapters left in this story :)


	6. Chapter 6

Zari, frankly, didn’t know how it happened. She was sitting there, fumbling for words, and next thing she knew, Charlie was standing up next to her. Their hand was on her hand, and then their hand was pulling her hand, and then their fingers intertwined as Charlie enthusiastically jogged towards the roped off stairs at the back of the café.

_So this is a feeling_.

The walls of the stairwell were tattooed with posters proudly proclaiming “The Smell.” Various pictures and prints of the band’s favorite gigs, all donning messily-Sharpied signatures, ushered Charlie and Zari upstairs.

Zari wasn’t sure if she was supposed to take her hand back once they arrived at the loft or not. The quaint space was about what she expected from Charlie: loud colors, bold patterns, and every single inch of the walls covered in art and music merchandise. It was chaotic and messy and really, Zari should hate everything about it. But it was nice. Really nice.

Home-y.

(And it wasn’t dirty, which Zari immensely appreciated. Sure, the beat-up couch had a stack of old CDs on it, in addition to currently housing a furled up tapestry that was best described as _aggressive_ with a corner that appeared to be unceremoniously _burnt_ , but the counters were clean and the place smelled fresh. No dishes left in the sink, no empty beer bottles on the ottoman. It was functional chaos.)

Charlie made the first move, gently lifting up their fingers. Zari took the motion as a cue and untangled her grip from Charlie’s.

“C’mon into the bathroom,” Charlie said as they began making their way towards a door boasting a large David Bowie poster. “The stuff’s in here.”

Zari followed Charlie into the well-lit and surprisingly neat room. She observed, still in a bit of a trance, as Charlie pulled an array of supplies from the lower cabinet.

“How homoerotic is this allowed to get?”

Zari looked up at Charlie, startled. “I—”

Charlie pivoted somewhat dramatically to look Zari in the eye. “What I meant was, how flirty can I be? Just want to make sure, since my coffee shop and my flat are different territories.”

Zari intensely examined the pattern of the floor tiles as her hand crept to her neck, nervously tugging the short pieces of hair at the base of her head. “Uh, er, sufficiently flirty.”

“The way your brow creased just now was adorable,” Charlie responded with a grin as they resumed obtaining the materials.

( _Fuck_. Zari did not mean to shiver— _slightly! It was only slightly, okay!_ —when Charlie’s hand lightly brushed her neck as they tied a towel around her to protect her clothes from the bleach.)

Charlie’s concentration face was unfairly mesmerizing as they concocted a tiny amount of the bleach mixture with delicate precision. “Thirty volume developer. Enough to fully lighten your hair, but not so much that it’ll fry it.” Charlie tore off a piece of aluminum foil and walked behind Zari. Taking a small section of hair from the bottom, they carefully brushed on the bleach before encasing the strands fully in the foil.

Zari could feel their satisfied smile, even though she couldn’t see it. (And she couldn’t help but smile herself, too.)

“So,” Charlie said as they began putting the bleaching supplies back into the organized cabinet, “now’s incubation time. I’d say for your hair, it’ll be 40 minutes to get it light enough. Any ideas for how we should pass the time?”

“Truth or dare.”

“What?”

“You said this was going to be homoerotic.”

“Eh, you’ve got me there.” Charlie gestured for Zari to follow them out into the living room, turning off the bathroom light on their way out. They sat criss-cross on the carpet, and Zari mirrored the action.

“So, Charlie,” Zari began, “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Oh, come on, that’s predictable! Please pick truth.”

“You’re lucky your pout is cute,” Charlie muttered as they shook their head, as if with disbelief. “Fine, truth.”

“When’s the last time you made a phone call, who were you calling, and why?”

“That’s like three questions—”

Zari gave them _that look_ again.

“I fucking hate how your eyes can make me do anything.”

“'Do anything' as in answer my question…” Zari said with mocking sweetness. 

Charlie sighed with amused defeat. “Yesterday, Senator Rob Fucking Portman, demanding that sufficient federal funding be given to public media.”

“So you’re a PBS viewer?”

“Sue me for liking Closer to Truth!”

“What’s that?” Zari asked earnestly.

“It’s like a philosophical thing, I guess. This atheist white dude goes around and talks to religious people, and the graphics are nice. Makes me think.”

A caring smile grew on Zari’s face. “I wonder i—” But she stopped herself mid-sentence. Save the intense spirituality discussions for the second date, she guessed. (Not that this was a date. Hair bleaching was decidedly not a date, not in the opinion of Zari Tomaz.) (Or at least she’d keep telling herself that.) “And to think I’ve managed to swoon an intellectual,” she quipped instead.

“Hey, who says I’ve swooned!”

“You’re playing Truth or Dare with a social media influencer who you bought nice tea for and whose hair you just dyed. You can’t deny the—”

“I deny everything!” Charlie shouted as they dissolved into laughter. After a few moments of recovery, Charlie’s voice sung, “Alright, truth or dare?”

“Truth.” (Zari pretended to not notice that Charlie had scooted a little bit closer to her during their fit of laughter. Intentional? Probably. But would Zari remain nervous and in denial? Absolutely.)

“Am I a manic pixie dream girl to you?”

“What?” _So much for saving the intense shit for the second date._

“Okay, so there’s this film trope where a girl comes in and magically improves the boy’s life. She radiates freedom and she’s _other_ from society, and her sole purpose is to help the boy become free too. And then she vanishes. Am I that to you? But, you know, not a girl?”

“Of course not,” Zari said immediately. She didn’t want to be some parasite to Charlie, just for them to ultimately disappear. “You matter to me. You’re more than just some passing show.”

Charlie paused, considering whether to say what they wanted to. Finally, they admitted, “You taught me how to let there be quiet.”

Zari gave Charlie a puzzled look.

“I live loud, and you’ve taught me how to deal with those few moments that need to be just a bit quiet. I realized it last night—that I was a lot more _here_ , a lot more present to my own self, despite the fact that it was silent. And I realized that that’s from you. But it was unintentional, I guess. So I wanted to make sure that you were okay that, at least on my end, this relationship is more than just the flirtatious exchange of decaf-no-booze drinks.”

“I mean something to you?” Zari said, sounding out the words.

“And you’re okay with the fact that my answer is yes?”

“Yes,” Zari exhaled softly.

\---

Blue hair suited Zari well. Perfectly, actually.

The strands remained hidden, but visibility didn’t equal existence or even strength. Because sure, the poor pieces of hair were all the weaker from the bleaching, but Zari?

Zari felt fucking _strong_.

As she left the shop, Charlie called out, “Do I need to be cautious when I resume my flirting tomorrow?”

Zari paused and smiled. “No.”

She began to drop the customary ten into the tip jar before Charlie interrupted her. “You know, you don’t gotta keep paying me.”

“Charlie, I—”

“No, I’m not letting you spend seventy bucks a week on this little dance we’ve got going. Anyways, you—your company, your kindness, your smile—you’re enough. The cash isn’t necessary.”

So Zari rolled her eyes with a visible fondness as she slipped in a five.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we will have our zava crumbs and we will enJoY thEm

David Fucking Reed looked about how Zari had expected, somehow. White man, mid-fifties, receding hairline. A visibly Cincinnati soul, in the absolute worst way possible.

Zari gave Charlie a shy but excited grin as the Cincinnati Liquor Board moved on to the last item on the meeting schedule. She rested her left hand on Charlie’s bouncing knee while her right moved to touch the small patch of blue hair, which was visible now since she was sporting a bun.

“And now we open up to public comments,” David Reed announced. Before that old geezer in the corner could try to say something, Zari stood up, just as they had practiced. Charlie gave an encouraging smile to the timid woman.

“F-fuck you David Reed!” Zari shouted. Her voice was giddy with surprise that she had managed to make the statement. 

Charlie jumped up next to her, pumping their fist into the air. “Hell yeah!” they yelled.

_Euphoria_.

And then came the getaway. They raced out of the room, giggling as they scrambled over the empty plastic seats, fleeing the scene before David had a chance to even process what had just happened. Zari threw open the glass doors of the drab building, and they sprinted to her blue Prius.

(No, they would not be taking criticism. Yes, their getaway vehicle was a Prius, but hey, Charlie’s bandmate needed to borrow the van, and parking that monstrosity would have been a nightmare anyways.)

“Charlie!” Zari panted, out of breath as they reached the far end of the lot where the Prius sat. “I don't think they’re following us.”

“Fuck, you must’ve just intimidated David too much. Hey, I don’t blame him,” Charlie answered smoothly, catching up to Zari. They leaned against the side of the car, Zari soon joining them.

“This whole rebellion thing is exhilarating.”

Charlie opened their mouth to respond, but in a breathless rush, Zari cut them off. “Hey, can I kiss you now?”

“God, I thought you’d never ask—”

\---

“Didn’t think you to be the type who would make out with me in the parking lot of a municipal government building.” Charlie pressed another quick kiss to Zari’s lips. “But I’m not complaining.”

The sun was beginning to set behind the beige architecture, and the streetlamps began to power on. The only sounds in the moment were Charlie and Zari's breathing and the occasional car a few streets over. 

Zari hummed with a gentle smirk. “My first time making out with someone in the parking lot of a municipal government building, yes. But the parking lot of a formerly covert federal agency-slash-bureau…”

“If this is your way of telling me you’ve been working for David this whole time, I—” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for sticking with me through this crazy au!! it went /places/ but you know what, we're happy. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you're enjoying this (somehow).  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated bc validation is nice :)))
> 
> ((i dont think lipton tea is that bad???? i was just desperate for a plot rip))
> 
> Please do not repost my work anywhere.


End file.
